Apocalypse? I Hope Not!
by LucyOfNarnia
Summary: "Spot, he's coming here- to 'Hattan!" With those words, Jack Kelly knew something was amiss. When Brooklyn's leader requests a secret leader-to-leader meeting, some of Manhattan's newsies want to know what it's about. And they'll even snoop to find out.
1. Chapter 1

_Here is a story written for the NYNA Spring Contest. The grammar/spelling isn't extremely good, but you'll understand once you read. This is kinda the introductory chapter. Things should get interesting rather soon. The rest of the story should be posted before next Wednesday. Without further ado, I give you-_**  
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_Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. Only the plot of this story.  
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**Apocalypse? I Hope Not! Part 1**

"Hey! Hey! Cowboy! Hey, Cowboy!"

I, the honorable Jack Kelly, toined around, me eyes flaming. Didn't people ever learn to ask once? _Once_. That's all I'm askin' for. Instead of somebody yellin' me name thoity-thousand times! All right, so mebbe I'm exaggeratin' jus' a little bit. But I mean, really! I know I'm the head of the finest newsie borough in New York, but there's got ta be bettah ways ta get a guy's attention.

Anyways, it didn't take me long to set my eyes on the kid who joined up (sounds like the army, don't it?) right aftah the strike. I guess he saw that pitcha of us in the Sun, and just had to become a newsie. And who can blame 'em! He was a scrawny kid, arms like sticks, and legs like broom handles. I mean, when ya look at that kid, he's got more legs then body! Sometimes, like in this instance, he reminds me more of a spidah then a person. His legs and arms move like windmills when he's runnin' or in a hurry.

_Just look at them legs move,_ I thought, whistling softly as I watched him cut through the crowd like buttah on a hot summer day. His cheeks an' nose were red from the effort, and I wondered for a moment why we didn't call him somethin' othah then Ruff. Spider Boy, or just Spider would've been bettah. But I guess he's jus' stuck with Ruff for now.

Before I get off topic, I should probably tell you'se why I'se is writin' this. Well, okay, I'm not the only one writin, cause some of the othah boys are gonna add their stories in. I wouldn't even know how ta write if it weren't for Davey. He says I spell lots wrong still, but I jus' write words like they sound ta me.

There I go gettin' way off subject again. Okay.

This story is about a certain group of newsies from the great city of 'Hattan (I can spell 'Hattan!), who got together ta tell their story: a great…no, a giant adventure that happened to these venerable (venerable!) newsies of 'Hattan. This was the strangest thing that evah happened ta us, and there's even a lesson at the end- but don't skip the story, cause that's important too.

So yeah, back to Ruff, and his spidery legs. I was wonderin' what had got this kid so hot an' steamy- he was absolutely breathless, but still managing to elbow his way through the crowd quicker then you can say "Pulitzer is a lyin' rascal." Which he is, but that's not what this story is about.

Oh great. I fahgot ta say why we are writin' all this down. It was David's idea- his and Sarah's. They said we should write it down for our children ta read- sorta as a lesson, and maybe so's they can see just how crazy their pops was. So yeah, I guess in about twenty years, you, my kid (if I have any kids, I'm not even married!) will read this. So..,

Ruff is standin' in front o' me, all flushed like, and he keeps rubbin' his sweaty forehead, so there's a red spot, right smack-dab in the middle. I push back my cowboy hat, and look at my newsboy curiously.

"Whatsa mattah Ruff?" says I.

"Did somebody die or somethin'?" Race put in sarcastically. Davey shot him a glare- recently Race's wisecracks 'ave been getting' on his noives. Race just chuckled, and took another drought from his cigar.

"I-I-he-he-s-s-here…" Ruff breathed out, gulping in air so quick, I thought he might choke on it.

"Woah, slow down kid," I said, feeling a little worried that Ruff might have a heart attack if he didn't calm down some. So we had to wait an entire minute till the kid- he _is_ a kid, only 'bout eleven years old, I'd say- could breathe like a normal person. When I could hear his pants slowin' ta deep, even breaths, I spoke. "Right. So what's eatin' ya, Ruff?"

"Yeah, are ya finally gonna tell us, or what? Ya gonna wait til the distribution centah closes?" Race quipped.

"Sh!" Davey hushed, looking more annoyed. My poisonal belief 'bout David's general grouchiness, was that it was because his folks had sent him back to school-leastways during schooling hours. But once and a while he would sell in the mornings. Guess they gave 'im leave. And at least his Saturday's are free. So maybe that's why he's really sore at Race- he's not so happy with school.

"Leave the kid be," I said to Race, and turned back to Ruff. "Now tell me."

"Spot," he sputtered out, all dramatic-like. "He's comin' here- ta 'Hattan!"

I frowned. Spot had been too busy to visit 'Hattan since a couple months after the strike. Some business with a local, aggressive gang had kept 'im busy. So what in New York could convince him to come see us? _It must be real important,_ I decided. The king pin himself was coming.

Don't get me wrong, Spot /is/ the king- king of Brooklyn at least. I could call myself king of 'Hattan I guess, though Spot would probably bloody me nose for it! Not that bloodying my nose would be easy. If Spot Conlon and meself got into a fight… well it would be an interestin' thing ta behold. I ain't gonna say in these pages who'd win, and I'll tell ya why. If I said I would win, and somehow Spot himself got ahold of this writing-well I don't want no trouble. An' if I said /he/ would win, I wouldn't have no dignity. So ya see, it's a great mystery that might never be solved, unless we get into a fight. I hope we don't. But it's possible, 'specially when he trespasses on 'Hattan with unknown purpose. But enough of that.

"Were you'se spyin' on him?" I asked quietly. The boy opened his mouth to respond, but before a word could come out, a cold, clear voice cut through the air.

"Yes he was, an' I don't appreciate it," Spot said, tapping the ground with his sil… interestin' cane as if ta prove a point.

I'm sahrry ta say I gaped a bit. "Spot," I finally said, crossing me arms as me newsies gathered round. "What brings you here?"

He merely quirked an eyebrow, and actually had the guts ta give me the smirk. If you're readin' this Spot- you always did have guts! So he just sits down on the distribution center steps, right where I usually sit, and sort of looks off in the distance for a second.

"Well, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick…you always were quick ta get the answers, weren't you'se?" I felt my face flush, and I even clenched one fist at my side, which o' course caused Spot to raise an amused eyebrow- again.

All right, so Spot Conlon ain't a bad guy, and he's a great borough leadah. But he does have this arrogant streak, or maybe he plain likes ta annoy people. I dunno. So I finally jus' tilted my head back ta read the board where they'd written the headlines for the day.

"Whatta ya want Conlon?" says I, grimacing at a 'specially bad headline."

"Oh, I jus' heard a bit o' news that ain't in the papah," he says nonchalantly.

"That so?" I keep my head turned away as he hums softly a moment, before continuing.

"Yeah, and it's uh, causing quite a ruckus in Brooklyn," he says, and I just know there's a smirk formin' on his lips. "Mebbe it'll even spread here- ta 'Hattan."

I turned and glared at him, not liking where the conversation was goin'. "Spot, I don' want no trouble, so mebbe you should jus' tell me straight out what's goin' on. I don' need no riddles," I said evenly, lettin' my words hang in the air.

"Yeah, I know, Jacky Boy. I know." He looks at me skeptically, then at all me newsies, standing about and listenin' so obviously. "But I ain't talkin' heah. Not in front of this sahrry lot anyway."

Some of me pals look offended. I hold a hand up ta stop 'em from doing somethin' drastic.

"Might wanna be careful who you call names," I say coolly, holding his steele blue gaze. "Me boys haven't been part of a good fight for a while."

Spot's lip tipped up. "You and I both know, Cowboy, that none of your boys would evah last 'gainst me in a fair fight. I'd lick 'em for suah."

I knew my newsies would be fumin' now. I really hate to admit it, but I knew Spot was right. After all, he didn't become leader of the toughest borough in New York by hostin' a tea party. I know that he's seen plenty o' bloody knuckles- and noses. Maybe if a group of newsies jumped him… But no, the boys would want a fair fight- none of that secrecy business. And a fair fight was one on one.

I ran a hand through my hair, and studied Brooklyn's leader. He wasn't the tallest of fellows. Fact is, he was kinda scrawny. (I hope he don't read this!) But when word went out on the street, just before the strike, that Spot was the new leader of Brooklyn, I hadn't been surprised at all. He was tough- I knew that.

He was young too- at least two years younger then me. Yet he managed ta control Brooklyn all by himself. Well, mebbe his right hand, Pistol, helped some. But me point is, Spot's tougher then he looks. And he can fight bettah then almost anybody I ever seen. Many an older boy has regretted pickin' a fight with Spot o' Brooklyn. Some boys thought because he was younger and smaller he would be easy pickins, and /they/ could be the new leader of Brooklyn. I laughed when I heard them stories, cause I knew what happened ta them boys. They got a black eye and a bloody nose if nothin' else. Sometimes when a fella was particularly tiresome, he'd give 'em a full out soaking. And I'll tell ya those boys didn't come back!

Oops. Dave's lookin' over me shouldah, and scoldin' me for me spellin'. And he's remindin' me not ta get off subject, though really you, whoever's reading this, need ta know the whole story, an' all about us. I would tell ya 'bout the strike, but Denton's writing a book 'bout that, and Dave says that's another story. But Denton thinks it could be made into a flicker someday. Boy, wouldn't that be something!" Uh oh. Davey's lookin' at me strange. I guess I should hurry up…

Okay, so I looked straight at Spot, an' this is what I said. "Me boys are tougher then they look. But… fine. We can have a private meetin'."

Conlon nodded, lookin' satisfied. "Any place in particulah you wanna meet?" he asks lazily.

"Lodgin' House," says I. "In the office."

Spot shakes his head. "Nah, these boys will hear for suah, an' I jus' want you'se ta know foah now. How 'bout Medda's?"

I saw Race's mouth drop open, an' I shook my head in exasperation. "I don' see how Medda's can be as private as the office at the Lodgin' house," I said, irritated.

Spot gave me a look that actually sent shivers down my back. Man, that kid has one crazy pair o' eyes! "But Medda's got herself a dressin' room that I'm suah she'll let us use. Trust me Kelly, it will be much more private."

I grunted, displeased. Besides the fact that Spot wanted ta meet in a building unclaimed by any borough, even if it was in 'Hattan, I plain didn't like that he wanted to meet alone. In almost all secret newsie meeting, the leadah's brought their seconds with 'em. We never established who the second in command leadah was here in 'Hattan. I guess it's Race or Blink. Davey's got brains, but he hasn't lived the life, and hasn't been a newsie long enough. I would've liked to insist on bringin' one of me boys, but I knew Spot would refuse, an' I didn't want ta look foolish in front of the entire group of newsies.

"Fine," I grunted, feeling extremely displeased.

"Tonight at ten," Spot said, and then disappeared into the crowd of newsboy's without a word. I – oh, apparently it's Blink's turn ta write. Well… goodbye for now. ~Jack Kelly


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: Here's part 2! I hope ya'll like it just as much as the first one. Constructive criticism is welcome. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the original characters from newsies. However, Benbow, Granny, and Blind Pete all belong to me, as well as the plot. :)_**  
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**Apocalypse? I Hope Not! Part 2-**

Hey there. My name's Kid Blink, but most folks jus' call me Blink. I have meself an authentic leather eye patch, but that's not what this story is about. I saw Spot come, an' I heard him talk so secret-like. I wasn't feeling happy at all with how things had transpired, when me friend Mush walks up ta me 'long with Racetrack Higgins.

"We gotta find out what Spot is up to," Race whispered, looking just as unhappy as I felt.

"How?" Mush shot back, looking more curious then unhappy. I nodded in support of Mush's question

"We'll go to da theater tonight- hide in the wardrobe where Medda keeps all her costumes, then-"

"Wait," I blurted, incredulous. "You want us ta spy on /Spot/?"

"And Jack," Race added, with the grin of one who is insane.

"Everyone knows ya don't spy on Spot!" says I. Was he out of his mind?

"Yeah," Mush added. "What if he caught us?"

"He won't," Race assured. "We'll go right aftah Medda goes out for her act at nine-thoity. That should give us time ta get settled in. I have ta know what that secret is!"

I scowled, my emotions mixed. Sure, I wanted ta find out what Spot was up to, but wasn't exactly in the mood ta receive a humiliating soakin' from him.

"I don' like it," I grumbled, shaking my head for emphasis.

"Me either," Mush agreed.

"Gents, we are doin' this," Race insisted, refusing ta back down.

And that's how we found ourselves at just a little aftah nine-thoity, sneaking inta Medda's big theater. It's not that Medda would've minded us being there, it's just that we were trying to be secretive and not let everybody know we were around.

At nine-foity we finally found our way ta Medda's dressing room. Bottles of strong smelling perfume, and containers of various types of makeup lay strewn 'bout her vanity, and I saw me face in the mierror attached to it. Boy, did I look noivous! Apparently, Medda was a bit of a slob, cause all sorts of clothing was thrown every which way all round the room, and one of her powdered makeup containers was spilled ta the side on the vanity. Mebbe she had ta rush and change between acts, I dunno.

I glanced at the orange walls of the dressing room in interest, thinking about how they clashed with the carpet, which was colored a deep red.

"She needs some decoratin' advice," I remarked without thinking.

Mush snickered. "And are you gonna be the one ta give it?" he asked teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Better me then you'se!" I shot back, elbowing my friend.

"Boys, are you ready ta stop arguing 'bout the coler scheme, and get your minds back on the business at hand?" Race asked, his tone reprimanding. "Or are ya lookin' ta get caught by Spot. Ya think he'd appreciate some of your advice?"

Mush looked down, a bit ashamed, while my face grew red as quick as could be.

"Sawrry," Mush mumbled to our drill sergeant. I just shrugged. No way I was going ta apologize ta Race. I didn't even want ta come!

"So what now?" I asked.

Racetrack passed me ta stand before the huge wooden wardrobe beyond the vanity. He whistled.

"That is one big wardrobe."

"Yeah," Mush agreed, looking at it in speculation. Feeling strangely excited, I straightened me eye patch, took a deep breath, and reached for one of the handles on the double door wardrobe.

"Are ya ready?" I asked, a small part of me secretly hoping they would say no, and we could just leave.

"A course!" Race said in an overly excited way, his eyes glinting. It made me noivous.

"Okay," Mush exhaled, giving me a reassuring pat on the back.

I tentatively pulled the door open, and it gave such a protesting squeak, all three of us froze. It didn't take me long ta realize it was the hinges needin' a good oiling, and I exhaled while Mush let out a shaky laugh.

As soon as I had opened one of the doors, Race shoved roughly toward the great multitude of clothes, some hanging up, and some laying messily around the bottom of the wardrobe. I had been standing several moments, gawking at the spectacle, but suddenly I found myself plunging, face first into a very sparkly purple dress with hard decorative stones sewn all over the fabrics surface. I heard a yelp, and thought at first it must be me, since /I/ was the one who had fallen, after all.

Then, as I picked myself up, I saw the boot; old, scuffed up leather one's they were, sticking out of the pile of clothes. I knew immediately they belonged ta a newsie. I grabbed a shepherd's staff that Medda must use in one o' her acts, and poked the leg that the boots belonged too. Hard.

"Ow!" came the voice, again. Mush pulled back the many frilly, crazy costumes to reveal a tall boy with sleeves and breeches a bit too short and tight on him, and a pair o' old spectacles with no lenses perched precariously upon his nose.

"Benbow!" I exclaimed, immediately wondering why our fellow newsie was here. And bein' so secretive 'bout it too!

"Hey fellas," he said sheepishly, giving an awkward half wave.

Benbow. Ya may be askin' how a person get a nickname like /that./ Well, when he foist came ta us, Benbow was a scholar of sorts. He dressed in clean clothes, (least as clean as they could be when ya ain't rich) and he had a small smile on his face. Benbow's almost sixteen, an' he's been a newsie since he was ten, sellin' in Harlem. When the Harlen newsie wars started, he and several othah boys migrated ta othah boroughs. Benbow chose 'Hattan. An' I do undahstand why he left Harlem, though he doesn't like talkin' 'bout it. Benbow ain't a fightah. Here in 'Hattan we don't have ta deal with too many newsie fights. The strike was an exception though.

Jack warned me not ta talk about that so you'se will jus' have ta read Denton's book when it comes out. I t'ink it's called: Newsies, Triumphing Over Corrupt Men. Poisonally, I like plain ol Newsies.

Even when he foist came ta us at thirteen, he clutched a ratty copy of "Treasure Island." The kid was obsessed with the adventure book, always tryin' ta stage scenes from the story. He enjoyed delegating who would play what character in these reenactments. (If that's how it's spelled!) Benbow was almost always Jim Hawkins, except for a few times when he had the urge ta play pirate Captain Silver, or sometimes the doctor.

When we was tryin' ta think of a clever thing ta call 'em (in Harlem he went by Reader, but Jack thought that was too dull) we didn't want ta jus' call him Hawkins, or Silver, or anything like that. One day, Specs got a hold of the book, and aftah flipping a few pages, he let out an excited yell.

"What did ya find?" a half dozen newsies, includin' me asked, leaning in, holdin' our breaths.

"Benbow!" Specs declared triumphantly

"What?" Jack asked, clearly confused, an who can blame him?

"Benbow," Specs repeated patiently. "We should call the new boy, Reader, Benbow!"

"Why?" Race asked curiously, with a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. Apparently he had never read "Treasure Island."

"Cause," Specs replied, jabbing his finger into one of the earlier pages located within the pages of the well-loved book. "Here it says that Jim, an' his muddah owned an Inn called 'The Admiral Benbow Inn. It would be the poifect newsie name!"

I liked it, poisonally, an' Jack leaned forward, eyes shining like they do every time a newsie gets their new name. "I think ya got somethin' Specs," he said in a congratulatory tone. "Nice goin' there!"

Specs beamed at the praise, and shoved his glasses up, nodding happily.

"Aw right, newsies, get ovah heah," Jack raised his voice, gathering the attention of all the newsboys within earshot. He conveyed ta everyone Specs' idea for a nickname.

"You're officially a 'Hattan newsie now, Benbow," Jack proclaimed, slapping the skinny kid on the back so forcefully that he rocketed into the surroundin' boys. We congratulated him too.

But yeah, that explains how Benbow got his name.

As for his appearance, well the reason his clothes don't fit so well is kinda interestin'. I mentioned before how when he came ta the Lodgin' House a few years ago, he liked ta try an' keep his clothes nice an' clean. Eventually he grew out of 'em, but there's a real sweet old lady (Well mostly sweet! She could wallop ya if she wanted too!) who lives up the street, and always manages ta bring up the cash ta find some clothes for us boys every couple years. We call her Granny. Well Benbow had a nice new pair o' breeches and a clean shirt an everything, when one day, during selling time, a horse driven carriage went by an sprayed him all the way from his scuffed shoes to his white shirt. He was upset 'bout it, ta say the least, and when word got back ta Granny, she offered ta clean the clothing for him. Granny's a good soul, but somehow when she was tryin' ta wash the clothes, they just shrunk down a size or two! To top that off, in Granny's words, "Benbow grew like a weed that ya can't pull out!" O' course she thought that was the only reason they were too small!

OH! I didn't tell ya how Benbow got his spectacles! He really likes spectacles, and he was jealous of Specs for the longest time cause o' his pair. Anyways, he thinks they make ya smarter, or look more studious or something. Well, one day he was lookin' through a box of stuff that some scabber had thrown out, and most of it was useful stuff. There was a teddy bear for Tumbler, some shoes for Mush, and a pair of spectacles without lenses. Benbow had pounced on them in delight, placing them ceremoniously on his nose as soon as he could. An' he's worn 'em since. Even ta bed sometimes, which can't be real comfortable.

An' so that's why Benbow looks like he does.

Woah. I just realized I wrote a lot o' stuff 'bout Benbow. Oops. Where in the world was I?

Oh yes, Benbow acting sheepish, an' saying "Hi fellas."

"Benbow, what on earth are ya doin' in a wardrobe?" Mush asked, his eyes filled with confusion.

Race's eyes, on the othah hand, narrowed with suspicion. "Benbow," he repeated in the same one as Mush, "WHY are you'se here?"

Benbow wiggled in discomfort, scratching at his ear thoughtfully. We waited a moment for an answer, and when it was clear he wasn't gonna talk, I spoke up.

"Tell us already, Ben! I wanna know!" I didn't say it meanly- leastways I hope I didn't. He finally looked us full on, and took a deep breath before giving us what we wanted.

"Well," he said, "I was kinda listenin' earlier when you'se were talkin' 'bout sneaking in ta listen in to the conversation. I didn't want to be left out-" His eyes sparkled merrily. "Cause it's an adventure ya know?" Benbow is always lookin' for an adventure. "So, I came here a few minutes before you fellas, an' I was plannin' on tellin' ya I was here, when uh…" he glanced at me. "When Blink fell on me. So it was a rather unceremonious discovery." Benbow likes ta use big words he reads in his books. That's how I know so many big words- him always usin' 'em!

"Ya shoulda just told us back at the distribution centah," Mush said with a smile. "We would 'ave let ya come along!"

"Or would we?" Race asked, moving his eyebrows up and down in a mirror imitation of Mush's earlier. Mush gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. That's when I heard the footsteps thumping outside the door.

"Guys," I whispered louder then I meant too. "They're /here/!" Everyone's eyes widened, and we all made a fast, but surprisingly quiet dash for the wardrobe, and somehow managed to cram inside, and shut the door behind us just in time before the dressing room door swung open, and whoever was standing outside the door a few moments before entered.

Here is a brief account of our positions in the wardrobe. In the mad rush ta get inside, Mush had been knocked into the bottom clothes, and stepped on several times. I commend him for keeping silent through the whole ordeal. On me right, Benbow was squished against some of the hanging clothes, and having to lean because he was so tall. Race was on me left, and due to Mush, was forced to stand on one leg like one o' them pink birds I've 'eard 'bout. I, fortunately for the most part, was in the front, but pressed up against the wood almost enough to open it because of the people squashed beside and behind me. Because of my position, I was in the poifect spot ta peek through the crack between the doors, and watch the proceedings. It was one of the most uncomfortable times of me life so far, but also one o' the most interesting.

I peeked through, and could just see a bit of Cowboy. But Spot was in more clear view it seemed ta me. I've nevah been inside a secret newsie leadah meeting befoah, and the silence was unnerving. They stood staring, as if they were sizing each othah up for a moment, before our fearless leadah, Jack finally spoke.

"Well, I'm heah, Spot." He sounded irritated. "What's happened that you would have ta have a private meeting?"

Spot let his lip tip up in a casual smirk, and I would've rolled me eyes if I didn't feel so constricted. I dunno why the King o' Brooklyn enjoys smirking, but ya won't find me talkin' bad 'bout him!

"Still in a hurry?" he asked leisurely, slowly pulling off his cap and setting it on the vanity.

"Yes. Yes I am!" Jack said, the displeasure seeping into his voice. "I'm havin' ta be secret like with me boys, an' I don' like it! IF there's somethin' important ya need ta tell me, spit it out already!"

Spot assumed an innocent expression. "Well Kelly, ya coulda jus' told me ya felt that way, and I woulda told ya long ago."

Jack grunted, and I could tell he was about ta blow. Uh Oh. Just where he was at the moment when his breath was comin' in fast, and I knew there wasn't much hope, Spot spoke.

"There's an old fella- name o' Pete- blind Pete. He hobbles round with an ol cane, and somehow makes due all on his own. Well Pete, he's special. Sometimes he can tell by the changes in the air an' stuff, and just knows when there's gonna be rain or anything. So he's gained himself some small respect in Brooklyn. I take it upon myself ta spend one day a week with ol Blind Pete, and hear what tidbits of news he's caught on too- he's good at listening ta the happenings- and this time the news is a whopper! But it ain't in the papes yet." He paused dramatically, and I heard Cowboy's breath catch.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding curious but hesitant, as if he didn't want ta be reeled in ta where he would be excited about Spot's news.

Spot laughed. Spot don't laugh much, so it was a bit of a surprise ta me.

"I can't see!" Race whispered from my left, while Mush let out a low moan, and Benbow shifted in discomfort.

"Sh!" I hissed. I just knew someone was gonna hear us, bein' so loud in the wardrobe.

Spot tipped his head, as if he was listening to his prey in the woods. It was a disconcerting thought. I gulped. His lips tipped up again, and he seemed ta study Jack.

"In ten days," Spot said, adding more theatrics. "Something's gonna happen."

"What?"

"Something huge."

"What is it?"

I could sense more then see the othahs in the wardrobe lean toward the doors, as if something great were going ta happen an' they didn't wanna miss a thing. Then I felt them, pressin' up againt me, an' my thinking was confirmed.

"The world," Spot said, taking out his slingshot, and rubbing the wooden surface against his grey trousers. "Is, according to some people, ending. Next week."

I saw Jack's jaw drop, for a moment before I was distracted by what was happening around me.

Race fainted. At least he tried too. Before he could get ta the floor, his head hit the back o' the wardrobe, and he rubbed it with drowsy eyes. Benbow started ta speak, an' I was somehow able ta clamp a hand ovah his mouth before he said anything. Mush gasped, and tried to get up, tripping me. Our positions had become even more uncomfortable, an I couldn't even think 'bout Spot's news.

I had just managed ta pull myself up, and glance out the crack 'tween the doors, when it happened. Spot turned his head, and his piercing blue eyes seemed ta be staring right through the wood of the wardrobe and inta my soul. I gulped for the second time that evening. My fear magnified when the king took a step toward the wardrobe. Before I could do anything, Benbow tried ta get more comfortable, and ended up blocking me view.

"I think we ain't alone," Spot said, ta Jack I assume. Race acted like he was gonna faint again, so I grabbed him tight.

The doors popped open, and Benbow fell right out, with me landing on him, and Race and Mush following right along. We lay there in a heap, and I tried my best ta grin at the dangerous figure of the king o' Brooklyn.


End file.
